Not enough chemicals to keep me from typing though.
I had a pretty big bedroom when I was in high school. Having a drum kit and a drawing table took up a lot of room so I actually had the biggest bedroom in the house. My folks got me one of those lamps that shines the light on the ceiling and illuminates the room. You've seen them. The tall skinny deals. It was horrendously bright, but had a really sweet dimmer control, so it could be adjust ed to one's comfort level. Perfect, or so I thought, and it went right next to the drawing table.
The problem grew from how I used the lamp. I did my homework at the drawing table, so I'd be in the room in the evening, playing some music and getting things done. I'd have the lamp adjusted so that I'd have enough light to see, but it wouldn't be too bright. Never liked have lighting too bright. Hurts my eyes a bit. Unfortunately, this was deemed the incorrect way to use the lamp and my father would come in, fuss at me, and then turn the thing up to full. the lamp was supposed to simulate sunlight. Last I checked, we built a house so I would be able to get out of the sun. That, and I don't think we're supposed to be looking at the sun directly.
So this persisted for months. I'd be in my room with the light at a comfortable level. Dad would come in and crank the sucker. He'd leave and after a view minutes of squinting at whatever I was doing, I'd turn the light back down. I'm not sure why the message of "When the light it turned up all the way it hurts my eyes" did not reach his brain, but it didn't.
Then I got the bright idea of removing the lamp entirely from my room. I had other lamps in there that did the job alright. Hell, I had a lava lamp that was much more pleasurable to my eyes. I removed the lamp from my room. I resisted the urge to chuck it out the window. My folks weren't home from work yet, so I took the lamp, picked out a nice spot in another room and placed it there. Then I went back in to do my homework.
In sit-com like fashion, my father upon arriving home discovered the lamp in the room which i placed it and brought it back into my room, plugged it in, and cranked that sucker up to the point which I then required a stronger glasses prescription. All the while, reading me the riot act about how they had gotten me that lamp and I should use it properly.
The matter was finally resolved when I started making good use of the lock on my bedroom door. When anyone knocked, I immediately cranked the light up as high as it would go. Once business has concluded I'd turn it back down to my comfort level. Some teenagers use the "Just a minute" bit when their parents knock on their door to hide the porn or whatever else they had that would get them in deep dip with their folks. Not me. I had to make sure the light was on.
Not a very traumatic story of youth, but we do have a moral: you can't tell people how to enjoy their gifts.
That's all for me today. see y'all Friday.